


Somewhere In Neverland

by stumblinginthestars



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:52:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2044923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stumblinginthestars/pseuds/stumblinginthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a series of Destiel oneshots inspired by OTPBot on twitter!<br/>Each chapter will be different! Some will be AU & others may be set on the show!<br/>If you have any of your own suggestions, let me know!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean and Castiel Try to Build a Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eternalspacecadet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalspacecadet/gifts), [gabriel_the_archangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriel_the_archangel/gifts).



 

                “ _Dammit_!” Dean yells in frustration, clutching his hand to his chest and dropping the hammer.

                Castiel looks up from the instruction manual with a frown before setting it aside. He walks three paces and hovers over Dean. “Are you injured, Dean?”

                “Am I--?! _Yes_! I smashed my damn thumb with that stupid hammer!” Dean pouts, inspecting his slightly red thumb with a frown.

                “I’m sorry that I am no longer able to heal you,” Castiel says.

                “What? No, it’s fine. It’s not too bad, just sucks.” Dean mumbles, refocusing his energy on the boards and pegs and hammer and parts A, B, C, D, E, and F that lay scattered across the floor of the room in the bunker.

                Ten minutes later, Dean is forcing a peg into parts E and B. He struggles to pound the boards together and Castiel looks up from the manual. “Dean, those parts are not—“

                “If you say they ‘aren’t compatible’ one more time, I swear to _God_!” Dean snaps, pounding the peg harder with the hammer.

                “ _Don’t_ blaspheme, Dean.”

                “ _Don’t_ get your panties in a twist, Cas.”

                Castiel scowls, returning his gaze to the large, white paper before him. He has managed to fit pieces C and D together while Dean has smashed his thumb three times, split the board that was supposed to be part F in half, and cursed IKEA for making “such a piece of shit bedframe.”

                Dean smashes his finger a fourth time and yells, “Son of a _bitch_!”

                “You should have listened to me.” Castiel grumbles.

                “Why? Were you also the angel of IKEA?” Dean snarks over a peg between his teeth.

                “No. There is no such angel, Dean.”

                “Whatever. I can make this fit.”

                “But the instructions say that A connects with B and then we have to use E to connect C and D!” Castiel nearly shouts, growing frustrated.

                “Cas! _No one_ reads the instructions!”

                “ _I_ read the instructions! And you’re doing it wrong!” Castiel growls, abandoning his work to stand over Dean once more, glowering down at him.

                “Do you want a bed in your room or not?” Dean juts his chin out indignantly as he looks up at Cas.

                “I would very much like one, but it appears that will not be happening anytime soon since you appear to be incapable of reading instructions!”

                “Fine. Do it your way. I don’t care.” Dean huffs, throwing down the peg and hammer.

                “Don’t be a child, Dean.”

                “You’re being a friggin’ child!” Dean counters. “This is stupid. I need a beer.”

                Five minutes later, Castiel is struggling to hold the pieces together while also hammering in the peg. Dean had stormed out after their little spat, but didn’t venture farther than his bedroom next door. Castiel, however, is determined to not ask for help. He tries placing a board between his knees and holding the other board in place with his left hand while he hammers with his right. The peg falls to the ground and rolls across the room. “Dammit,” Castiel mutters under his breath. He sets the boards down and moves to go get the peg when he steps on the discarded cardboard box. The box slides under his feet and Castiel falls backwards. He hits the back of his head on the shelves Dean had installed earlier that week. He lands atop the stack of parts C through F and the extra pegs with a crash, sending the pieces clattering across the floor.

                “Cas?” Dean calls from his room next door. He rounds the corner and sees Cas laying in a heap. “Dammit, Cas! What happened?”

                “Nothing. I fell.” Castiel moans as he sits up. He touches the back of his head and hisses from pain.

                “Lemme see your head.” Dean kneels beside Castiel and takes his head in his hands gingerly.

                “I’m fine, Dean.” Castiel grumbles, still upset.

                “Don’t be like that,” Dean murmurs, lightly touching the back of Cas’s head.

                “ _Tsssss!”_ Castiel recoils slightly.

                “You’re not bleeding,” Dean sighs with relief. He purses his lips and looks at the boards that lay strewn across the room. “It’s getting late…”

                “I am aware of the time.”

                Dean frowns, clearly Castiel is still upset. “You wanna go to bed? You look tired.” He offers with a self-conscious smile.

                “I would like to sleep, but I have no mattress. I suppose I’ll sleep on the couch again, but—“ Castiel mumbles when Dean cuts him off.

                “I mean, would you, uh, I mean, you can…” Dean’s face is turning a bright shade of pink as he stammers. “You can sleep in my bed.”

                “Where will you sleep?” Castiel tilts his head, anger giving way to confusion.

                Dean coughs, ears tinting pink as well. “In my bed.”

                Castiel’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

                “Or, uh, or not. I can sleep on the couch… You don’t have to.” Dean backpedals, rubbing the back of his neck.

                “If I sleep in the same bed as you, am I allowed to kiss you?” Castiel asks.

                _“What?!”_

                “In the movies we have watched, whenever people share a bed, this usually means that they are in a relationship that involves kissing.” Castiel reasons, turning so that he is sitting Indian-style in front of Dean and no longer sprawled across the floor. “So, I was wondering if we were to both sleep in your bed, would I be allowed to kiss you?”

                “Uh, I, uh…”

                “Because I would very much like to kiss you, Dean.”

                Dean’s eyebrows shoot up this time, but he nods, in a daze. “Yeah…. Yeah, we can kiss, Cas.” He smiles slowly. “I wanna kiss you, too.”

                Dean is suddenly very grateful for the “some assembly required” label.


	2. Dean Is So Not Jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dude, are you jealous?”  
> “What?! No.” Dean says gruffly.  
> “Okay,” Sam draws the word out. “I mean, it’s cool if you are, I mean, I know that you and Cas share a ‘profound bond’...”  
> “Shut the hell up.” Dean snaps, ears burning with embarrassment because he is so not jealous of the man who is clearly hitting on Cas. Who cares? Not Dean. “I’m not jealous. I just want my damn beer that I asked him to get seven years ago.”

                Dean glowers at the bar from where he is leaning against the pool table. He’d sent Castiel to get another round of beers _two minutes ago_. And now the ex-angel is being chatty-Cathy with some uppity dude in a suit. Who wears a suit to a bar? Well, besides himself when he’s playing FBI. But that’s different. This guy is in a fucking three-piece suit and has a damn lilly pinned in his lapel. Probably a groomsman.

                “Uh, it’s your turn, man,” Sam’s voice breaks through Dean’s annoyed thoughts and he looks back to the table where Sam and the man and woman they’re currently hustling are waiting.

                “Oh, uh, sorry,” he huffs, meandering around to where the white ball last came to a rest. He lines up his cue, but can’t help but catch a flicker of movement from the bar. The brush of a hand to a shoulder. Dean’s frustration comes out in his game, turning an easy bank shot into him scuffing the table and sinking the damn white ball.

                “Uh, Dean?” Sam murmurs as he comes to face his brother, his back to the couple they are playing. “You okay?”

                “I’m fine.” He grouses, rubbing chalk on his cue agitatedly.

                Sam’s eyes follows Dean’s gaze and his eyebrows rise slightly. Dean scowls at his brother, trying to give him a silent, _shut-the-hell-up_ face. It apparently doesn’t get through his little brother’s thick skull.

                “Dude, are you _jealous_?”

                “What?! No.” he says gruffly, watching as the woman strikes the ball, sinking two other balls. Dammit.

                “Okay,” Sam draws the word out. “I mean, it’s cool if you are, I mean, I know that you and Cas share a ‘profound bond’...”

                “Shut the hell up.” Dean snaps, ears burning with embarrassment because he is _so_ not jealous of the man who is clearly hitting on Cas. Who cares? Not Dean. “I’m not jealous. I just want my damn beer that I asked him to get seven years ago.”

                Castiel finally returns with their drinks. Unfortunately, the stupid flirter follows and it’s even more ridiculous because the dude looks like a young Enrique Iglesias which is just stupid. But who cares, right? Dean snatches up his beer and takes a long pull before looking over the table to make another shot. He’s leaning over, lining his cue up with the white ball carefully when he sees the man bend over towards Castiel. “I’d love to see you bend over like that for me,” he says into Castiel’s ear quietly, but Dean still fucking hears it and so does Sam because the taller man’s eyes go wide with embarrassment.

                “Well, we can play pool next if you wish..?” Castiel responds unassumingly.

                The idiot. He may understand references to the damn _Brady Bunch_ now, but he’s still fucking clueless to sexual jargon. Dean turns back to the game, shoulders way too tense to make the shot he is aiming for. Sam sighs in annoyance when the cue ball misses. Whatever. Whatever. _What-the-fuck-ever._

                And, of course, the couple lands the next two shots they make. Perfect. Sam’s gaze flits from Dean to Castiel questioningly and Dean flips him off.

                “What’s wrong, Dean?” Castiel asks, catching the last part of the exchange between the brothers.

                “Nothing, Cas,” Dean lies, shooting a dark look at Mr. Tall-Dark-And-Handsome before downing the last of his beer and setting the empty bottle on the scuffed-up edge of the pool table.

                Sam shakes his head, moving to make a shot. Dean leans back against the table, picking up his bottle again. He pretends to inspect the label, but he’s really just snooping on Cas and Casanova. The man is rubbing against Cas like a fucking teenager. He’s all hands, touching Castiel’s shoulder, forearm, and lower back. Dean picks at the label and rolls his eyes as the man laughs too loud at Castiel’s reference to _Coyote Ugly_. Castiel lifts his beer bottle to his lips and Dean feels himself prickle with jealousy— _no_ , he’s _not_ jealous—when the stranger tracks the movement and licks his lips.

                As Castiel lowers the bottle, the man moves to stand in front of Castiel with his back to Dean and slides his hands to hold Castiel’s hips. And Sam is staring at Dean and Dean is clutching his pool cue so tight that his knuckles are white and the man backs Castiel up to the wall and— _fuck_. Dean moves and sees that Castiel looks nervous and he feels his hackles rise protectively. But he holds himself back and reminds himself that _Cas can handle himself._

                “You’ve got a pretty mouth,” the man is saying, too drunk to realize he’s not being very quiet.

                “Thank you.” Castiel replies politely and Dean barely represses a groan.

                “You should put it to good use,” the man says, leaning into Castiel, hands on either side of Castiel’s shoulders.

                “Hey, man, you gonna play or—“ the woman starts griping, but Dean tosses a wad of cash on the table, snapping, “You won. Hooray.”

                He turns back to see the man placing his right leg between both of Castiel’s and muttering, “Wanna take this outside so you can… use those lips on me?”

                And Dean sees the lightbulb flicker on in Castiel’s head as he finally— _finally_ —realizes what’s going on. Before Castiel can say anything, though, the man rocks into him slightly and Castiel’s lips part in a small gasp and Dean knew this damn bar’s lighting was too low to be trusted and he feels a shoulder under his hand and suddenly he’s yanking fake-Enrique off of Castiel.

                “Hey, man!” the man is snapping angrily, shoving Dean backwards.

                And that tears it. Dean is swinging. He lands a solid blow to the man’s cheek, but is too distracted by anger to see the man reel his arm back. A fist hits Dean in the left eye and he hisses before launching himself towards the man in full-on bar-fight mode. The damn lilly falls to the floor and Sam tries to pull fake-Enrique off his brother when another couple of groomsmen come out of the shadows and join the fight. And fists are swinging and boots and dress shoes are scuffing the chipped wood of the floor and Dean and the man are rolling around and pointed toed shoes hit Dean in the ribs and he tries to fight the men off and Sam tries to pry everyone apart and Castiel is wailing on the man who kicked Dean.

                A gunshot rings out.

Big, burly men come. The trio gets thrown out due to the fact that “the maniac in plaid jumped me for no reason!” Dean scoffs. What an infant. Dean shouts insults as he is shoved out into the dark night, staggering to gain his footing. Castiel and Sam go cooperatively. They head to a 7eleven and buy bags of frozen vegetables before heading back to their hotel room in silence. Sam stares daggers at Dean every so often as he drives because Dean can’t because he’s gotta hold a bag of frozen veggies against his black eye. Castiel is in the backseat, holding his bag of peas to his bleeding knuckles. They walk into their hotel room and when the door closes behind them, Sam and Castiel turn on Dean.

                “What the hell, man?!” Sam explodes, waving his bag of peas and carrots around.

                Dean scowls, pressing the frozen bag to his eye.

                “Why did you start that fight, Dean?” Castiel asks, tilting his head. “The man’s advances were uncalled for, but I was able to decline his offer myself.”

                “What is this? Twenty questions?” Dean grumbles, trying to walk around the two.

                “Dean, come on.” Sam badgers his brother. “You got us in this big-ass fight. Which was stupid. We’re lucky they didn’t call the police!”

                “He’s right. The fight was uncalled for and we were outnumbered by all the man’s friends. And we are all somewhat injured now.” Castiel lists off and Dean is growing frustrated. “And that could affect our work on this case. FBI agents rarely have black eyes. And what if something bad had happened to you? Why would you risk it just because—“

                “Because I didn’t want him to touch you!” Dean shouts. The words rush out before consulting with his brain. “I was fucking jealous, okay?!”

                And the room goes silent.

                Castiel’s mouth is in a surprised ‘o’ shape while Sam’s jaw is practically hitting the floor. Dean realizes what he’s admitted a second after the words are done echoing off the walls and he snaps his mouth shut and marches to hide out in the bathroom until everyone forgets about all this or until he dies in there. Either way works. He hears the sound of lowered voices as Sam and Castiel are probably discussing how freaking awkward that moment was then, the sound of the motel door opening and closing enters Dean’s ears. He waits a few seconds and is greeted with complete silence. Good. They’ve left him to rot in his mortification. He reaches to open the door. He can rot in his humiliation while watching a crappy game sh—

                He slams the door closed when he sees Castiel standing on the other side. Damn the guy is too fucking quiet. Three light knocks come from the other side of the door along with a quiet, “Dean.”

                “Go away, Cas.” Dean groans, feeling his blush spread across his nose.

                “Dean, we should discuss what just happened.”

                “Oh, bite me.”

                Castiel is silent for a second and Dean hopes he’s left. Nope. Of course. The doorknob jiggles and Dean tries to get the lock into place, but Castiel shoves the door open enough to squeeze in. “Dammit, Cas!” Dean exclaims, trying to ignore the heat spreading from his neck to the tips of his ears. “You can’t just barge in on someone in the bathroom!”

                “You were not using the facilities.” Castiel says matter-of-factly.

                Dean shoulders his way past Castiel and into the main room of the motel.

                “Dean, talk to me.” Castiel says behind him.

                “ _What_ , Cas?! What do you want me to say?” Dean asks, spinning around to face the fallen angel. “Want me to admit I was jealous again? Okay! I was jealous! Why? I dunno! Maybe ‘cuz I didn’t like how he was _all over you_! Maybe because I have stupid feelings for you! Which is not your problem! So… sorry that I butted in.” His anger fades into embarrassment and his voice fizzles out towards the end. He ducks his head, wishing he could melt into the stained carpet under his feet.

                Dean waits in excruciating silence before he builds up enough nerve to look up at Castiel. And his lips are quirking upwards in a small smile. And it sends those butterflies in Dean’s stomach fluttering and he considers drinking some pesticide to calm them down. “What?” he asks self-consciously.

                “You have… feelings for me?” Castiel asks slowly.

                “Oh, _God_ , can we not do this?” Dean groans. “It’s embarrassing.”

                “I don’t see why since I reciprocate the feelings of attraction towards you as well.”

                “Shut up, Ca—Wait. You what?”

                Castiel’s face is a light shade of pink and Dean finds it endearing and cute and he wants to smack himself in the face for being so damn sappy about this. But Castiel is rambling, “Well, I assume your embarrassment derives from the fact that you hold romantic feelings for me and presumed I didn’t return them. If that is not the case, then I’m sorry for springing this on you. If you don’t wish to become romantic partners, I completely understand.”

                “Shut up, Cas.” Dean says through a big, dopey grin, closing the gap between them by pressing his lips to Castiel’s and—wow. The guy had really great lips. They were soft and plush and pink and Dean wraps one hand behind Castiel’s neck while the other holds the angel’s hip. Castiel’s hands flutter uncertainly against Dean’s body before he grasps handfuls of Dean’s over-shirt, tugging him closer. And it’s a sweet, slow kiss. And he can’t stop smiling against Castiel’s mouth. And it’s _totally_ chick-flick-y.

 

But Dean doesn’t really give a damn.


End file.
